


Fucking and Champagne

by Valpur



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, I love my science wives, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Smut, dom!Moira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: “Scheiße”, she hissed at her mirrored self.She knew she was better than Moira. She was more respected by her peers, her work more valued, and most of all she had strong ethics.And yet she was drawn to the other woman’s dark aura like a moth to the flame.It began and ended with a glass of champagne.





	Fucking and Champagne

The champagne glass was cold, a myriad of tiny droplets melting against the warmth of her fingers.

Angela hated it, as much as she hated being here in the first place. Of course, she hadn’t stood a chance to miss the party – a pompous, everlasting event to remind the press and the public opinion that Overwatch was still working for the good of everyone, and to silence the slithering voices of turmoil among its ranks.

She’d known it the very moment commander Morrison had briefed the team about the necessity to attend the gala.

“We must stand as one. There’s enough talk already about a schism”, and he’d sharply looked at Gabe, who’d only smirked in return, “I need us all to be there”.

He was right, of course, and Jack Morrison seemed built to stand in the limelight. Even now, in his pristine blue uniform, he smiled and talked to politicians and obnoxiously rich and influential people with unfaltering professionalism and a polite smile.

On the other hand, Angela felt completely out of place. Her long ivory gown seemed made of sandpaper and metal instead of silk, and the golden necklace dangling from her throat felt like it could choke her any moment. This was not her place, these were not her people: she craved the dim lights and the silence of her lab, the discreet company of chemicals and computers that worked for and with her.

 The glass almost slipped from her hand when a man in a black tuxedo – just another kind of uniform – casually spoke her name.

“… isn’t it, Dr. Ziegler?”

She blinked and managed to stretch her lips into a smile. When everything failed, she knew she could always count on the power of sheer good manners; she tucked a blond strand behind her ear, making her long earrings swing against her neck and down her bare shoulders, and batted her lashes.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted by the music – what were you…”

“It can be a bit overwhelming, am I right?” said the man, a sturdy gentleman with scruffy grey hair and red cheeks. What was his name again? Meyer, Mayers… something like that. “As I was saying, my team’s latest paper on the genomic expression of DNA microarrays has recently been accepted for the publication on Lancet, and I’d be delighted to provide you with a copy. I suppose you’ve already read the draft, am I right?”

Angela’s brain unclogged for a moment as memories clicked into place. Meyer, that was the name, Charles Meyer, and yes, she’d read his paper, even if she hadn’t found it remotely as interesting as the man expected her to.

“An interesting take on the subject, Dr. Meyer, and I’m positive it will lead to a more accurate method for the transcription of genomic sequences”. She subtly lifted her glass in a silent toast, and Meyers beamed. He didn’t need any more incitement to carry on his one-man conversation.

His voice slurred in her head as he rambled on about his studies, supported by the quietly enthusiastic noises of his companions.

Suddenly, Angela felt her blood boil to her ears. The five people surrounding her were suffocating, with their smells of smoke and expensive perfume and their elegant outfits.  
  
She sighed softly and tried to take a look around the room, desperate for a way out.

Under the canopy of a high frescoed ceiling, bathed in the golden light of a massive chandelier – Angela tried _very hard_ not to think about what would have happened if such a gargantuan thing had fallen on the crowd – her companions were in her same situation.  
Apart from Jack, shuffling at ease among his many admirers, everyone sported a small cluster of people all too interested in hearing their voices. McCree and Genji had been cornered by a woman in taffeta and pearls, and both looked like they would have much preferred being on a mission risking their lives than here, scanned and poked and prodded by too many strangers. Winston was faring probably better, and he and Lena were entertaining a lively conversation with the mayor and his assistant. Gabe, after picking a glass from a passing waiter, grinned at her and went back to talking to Ana and a couple of people Angela had identified as big names from the academic world.

Everyone from Overwatch seemed to be at the center of someone’s attention.

Except for _one_.

Moira was standing in the farthest corner of the room, cold and austere in her high collar black suit and toying with the stem of her glass, languidly held between her long fingers. The lights from the chandelier danced on her slick red hair, neatly combed back but for a loose strand casually falling on her pale, sharp cheekbone.

Angela gasped softly as the older woman turned, as if her gaze had sent out a loud call. Moira tilted her thin crimson lips in something that was way more dangerous and enticing than a smile and lifted her glass to take a sip.

She _knew_.

Even from the distance, even with dozens of people standing in the way, Angela could see her swallow her drink; Moira subtly smacked her lips and wiped a wandering droplet from the corner of her mouth with a clawed finger, licking it from her skin with a wink.

Angela had thought the room too hot already, but now she struggled to resist the urge to fan herself. Fire bloomed under her skin – she swore she could feel it paint her chest and throat in bright red patches – and a wave of heat crawled from her lower belly.

How _dared_ she? How could she look at her in such a crowd as if she was naked – and make her feel naked and exposed indeed?

She needed to get out of here, and most of all away from those mismatched eyes that scratched and burned inside her.

With a shiver, she turned back to look at the men surrounding her, too deep into their conversation to notice her distress. Thank God for his small mercies. The smile she plastered on her face felt stiff and almost manic, but she hoped no one would pay it much attention.

“If you’ll excuse me…” she said in little more than a whisper; she slipped away in a trail of ‘see you later, Dr. Ziegler’ and ‘always a pleasure’ that she ignored, placed her still full glass on the nearest table and marched across the hall. Soon, she realized Moira was not in line of sight anymore, and the tickling of her high heels on the marble floor sounded slightly less frenzied. As she reached the bathroom’s door, she even managed to breathe more easily.

It was better already. The bathroom was in a lateral corridor, dimly lit and quieter than the main room, and for a blessed moment she was alone. She sighed and let her shoulder sag, the tension in her back relenting a bit.

She took a long, shuddering breath and pushed the door, welcoming the echoing silence of the tiled, empty room. A moment of quiet was just what she needed, she thought as she placed her hands on the cold sink and stared at her reflection.

Better, yes, but not good at all. She could’ve looked impeccable, but her eyes gave too much away: only a shadow of her blue irises was visible around her blown pupils, and her cheeks were pinker than she deemed acceptable.

“ _Scheiße_ ”, she hissed at her mirrored self.

She knew she was better than Moira. She was more respected by her peers, her work more valued, and most of all she had strong ethics.

And yet she was drawn to the other woman’s dark aura like a moth to the flame. It had been just hatred at the beginning, a black energy that surrounded them anytime they were in the same room, but lately that tension had taken a frightening different hue.

Angela bit her lip as memories of a dark, empty corridor flooded her mind – cold hands on her wrists, snarky remarks, ruthless lips devouring her mouth and making her knees weak.

She despised Moira O’Deorain, and yet she _wanted_ her. Her whole body craved those sharp nails scratching her back and leaving fiery marks on her skin, and even now a simple grin had been enough to shut her common sense down.

With an undignified groan, she clenched her legs together, desperate to smother the flame throbbing from between them. If only what painted her face crimson was only shame…

The door clicked open, and Angela hastily stood up, her hand fumbling with the faucet to give herself a semblance of self-control. When Moira’s sharp face appeared behind her own in the mirror, though, she knew the battle was lost.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, Dr. Martyr?” she sneered, leaning to the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest. The tidy triangle of the handkerchief in her front pocket was the only touch of white in her outfit – black from neck to toes, where shiny stilettoes made her even taller and more intimidating.

Angela bore her gaze through the mirror, lips contracted in a furious line, and her fists clenched on the marble of the sink.

“Dr. O’Deorain”, she hissed in a dry greeting.

Moira shook her head and cocked a thin eyebrow.

“Such formalities are superfluous between us, my dear”. Her eyes – embers and ice under long copper lashes – scanned her, taking in her tasteful gown and shocked face. She subtly bit her lower lip and nodded.

Angela threw her hair back with her hand and turned around to face her. No matter how much her body was planning to betray her, she was determined not to let Moira mock her. Under that attentive, piercing stare, she held herself at her full height and narrowed her eyes.

“If you’re done staring…”

“Oh, I am”, was the soft reply. Moira stood up from the wall and calmly closed the door behind her, and Angela’s breath caught in her throat.

“What do you want?” Her voice sounded hungry already, and dear God, she hated herself so much for such a weakness. Her heart thumped in her ears, and when Moira’s hand fluttered to the knob she gritted her teeth. “Don’t you dare lock the door!”

“Who, _me_? Are you accusing me of keeping you here against your will?” Her slender fingers tapped the brass with an ominous tickling. That lethal smile was still there, more poisonous and fascinating than ever. “You’re free to go whenever you please…”

Lies. A bunch of pathetic lies, and they both knew it. Angela was stuck in place by that ridiculous surge of lust she hadn’t been able to control since their first kiss – more like a bite and a struggle for dominance, and she hated to admit she still thought about it in those lonely nights when her fingers were her only chance to find some release.

“If you need to talk to me, we can find a more suitable location”, she insisted, but Moira shrugged.

“Do you think I didn’t recognize that look of yours? You were searching for me, calling me with your eyes. And I’m just answering your request, Angela”.

The way her name sounded in that rich, low voice sent a spike of desire up her spine, and Angela felt her knees gave way. By sheer willpower, she forced the feeling back and held her head high.

“I can’t deny our recent past, but this doesn’t mean I’ll come whenever you snap your fingers”.

“Oh, really?” Moira lowered her head and took a step toward Angela, with the deadly grace of a predator. “Leave, then. The door’s open”.

But Angela didn’t move. She waited like a small animal in the shadow of a hawk, but what she tasted on her tongue was not fear. She tried to swallow, and a pathetic little whine fell from her lips. Moira approached her in slow steps, and soon she was looming over her. Angela had to back away against the sink.

“But I don’t think you’ll go anywhere, my little bunny. You’re far too easy to read”. She planted her hands on the marble behind Angela and smiled some more. “I bet I can prove your theory wrong”.

“W-What theory?” she stuttered. Having Moira so near – their bodies were almost touching, and what little space still existed between them was unbearable – meant breathing in her scent, sharp and utterly intoxicating.

“That you won’t come at my command”.

That was it, for Angela. Whatever was left of her self-control gave in with what she was sure was an audible _snap_. She grabbed Moira by the lapels of her jacket and pulled her down until their mouths clashed together. Her body jerked forward, and she pressed herself against the other woman’s body, moaning as the warmth seeped under the silk of her dress.

A beastly need turned her kiss into a sloppy thing all teeth and tongue that couldn’t quench her thirst but only magnified her lust. And Moira was so calm and smooth, her lips dancing on her own, teasing and playing with her lust – it was driving her insane. Angela let herself being pushed back, half sitting on the sink, and gasped when cold nails raked up her cheek and sunk into her hair.

She could have drowned into the sensation of her head being tilted back, the harsh tugging at her scalp, the slick tongue exploring her mouth. Moira placed her free hand on her knee and pushed it apart, making herself comfortable between her thighs. The kiss moved from Angela’s mouth to her throat, small pointy teeth closing on the pulse under her skin in a bite that made electricity dance in her veins, and then to her collarbone.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to close the door?” chuckled Moira against her, looking up from the neckline of her dress and winking. Angela knew better than this, and a sensible reply was born and died in her brain when she felt the cool hand slip from her hair and reach for her breasts.

_Close the door_ , she told herself. But Moira squeezed lightly, and her nipple reacted with unexpected enthusiasm, rising into a peak and bulging against the thin fabric.

Moira hooked two fingers under the neckline and pulled it down, tucking it under her high white breasts. Angela bit the back of her hand when a trail of kisses traveled down her cleavage and insisted on the stiffening pink bud; she couldn’t help herself and sat back, her legs spread open and her shaking fingers making their way through Moira’s hair.

_Close the door_ , she repeated, throwing her head back and rutting against the friction of Moira’s hips. Not enough, heady already.

“Or”, Moira purred, lapping at her heated skin with her eyebrows raised, “we could just leave it open and risk getting caught”. The next bite _hurt_ , and Angela arched her back, panting for more. When she looked down she saw the signs of teeth on her the firm curve around her nipple. Moira grinned and pushed Angela’s dress down her shoulders.

“Think of what they would say – the much-respected Dr. Angela Ziegler carrying on with the ambiguous scientist in the bathroom of a five-star hotel, just a door away from the most prominent representatives of politics and academia?” Her hands caressed Angela down to her waist and swiftly rolled the silken skirt up. “How _inconvenient_ ”.

Angela wished she could care, but she had let go of her dignity the moment Moira had entered the room. The idea of anyone walking on them and finding her completely disheveled, with her legs wide open and her dress crumpled under her breasts, eyes unfocused and fingers trembling in the other woman’s hair, was horrible. And so hot, so wrong and _perfect_ she felt the beginning of a deep pulsation throb between her legs.

Moira chuckled and resumed her kisses, licking Angela’s lips with slow and meticulous attention.

“How will you explain this?” she teased some more, sliding a hand down Angela’s navel and leaving it hovering over her lacy panties. She craved that touch and rocked forward desperately to chase it, but Moira pulled back minutely with a smirk and an almost chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth. “So eager already…”

Angela grabbed on to Moira’s shoulders and bit back a sigh. She was painfully aware of the dampness pooling in her underwear, and her heartbeat betrayed a frenzy she dreaded.

_Let them see_ , she thought. _I don’t care. Let them see what I really am_. The impending ruin of her career and reputation now only felt like a challenge she was ready to take.

But when Moira’s palm pressed steadily between her thighs, she stopped thinking altogether. It felt cold against her wet heat, and the slow circular movements turned the throbbing into a deep electric vibration through her whole body. Angela held her breath and pushed forward to get more, her chest rising and falling with the thundering rhythm of her heart.

A rasping sound escaped her lips, and Moira laughed softly against her mouth.

“What was that?” she asked, rubbing and squeezing until the thin layer of lace dividing them went damp. Angela snarled and her eyes fluttered closed.

“P-Please…”

“Oh, I like that. Say it again, would you? I’d like to hear you beg…”

This picked at the strings of Angela's playfulness. Her mouth curled up in a grin and she licked her lips.

“You’ll have to… to do better, then…”

“My dear Dr. Ziegler, I don’t think you’re in the position to make the rules”, she whispered against her tongue, thrusting her own into her mouth and drinking the choking sound her caresses elicited. A smooth, sharp fingernail toyed with the hem of Angela’s panties, slipping under the fabric and gently scratching the smooth skin underneath.

“Keep… keep those talons away from my privates”, she blurted out in a sob that rekindled Moira’s humor.

“But you like it”, she said, running the pad of her thumb down her slit. Angela gasped when the pressure found her clit, light strokes that made her clench involuntarily around nothing and turned her ragged breaths into a labored panting. She was, once more, right – she liked it more than she wanted to admit, subtle lines of invisible energy lightning under her skin and pooling heavy in her stomach.

She wanted her to beg? She was this close to doing as she was told, but _please, please don’t stop, don’t you ever_ dare _to stop._

Predictably enough, that harpy was determined not to make things easy for her. She leaned closer, their foreheads touching, and her hand slid away.

“But as you wish, bunny”. She sneaked her fingers under Angela’s underwear and pulled it down, silencing any budding form of protest. “However, I don’t need my fingers to make you squirm and whimper”.

The lace glided down Angela’s thighs – so slowly, inch after inch of excruciating wait and expectation, with the constant threat of being found and humiliated – until Moira let go of it, a tiny white cut of fabric dangling from Angela’s ankle.

She searched her stocks of wits and found it dry. All that mattered, now, was the way Moira was looking at her, a faint pink up her cheekbones and her pupils swallowing all the color from her eyes. She licked her lips and knelt in front of her, hands splayed on Angela’s thighs.

“Have I ever told you what a pretty thing you are? I should keep you like this more often – with your lovely pink cunt open and drooling for me…”

“Shut that foul mouth”, she snapped back, her whole body burning. Unabashedly, she dipped her hand down and opened her labia, and Moira, for once, blinked and followed her request, probably too surprised to keep on bickering.

The first sweep of tongue drained all air from Angela’s lungs. The slick pressure danced in the depths of her flesh, drawing paths of fire that cleared Angela’s brain of any logic.  
  
She leaned back against the mirror, forcing her eyes open to stare at the marvel of Moira eating her out, brow furrowed in deep concentration.

She was good – of all the rightfully bad things that could be said of her despicable colleague, Angela had to give her credit for her skills in this. She knew where to lick and where to push, when to let her tongue brush her in languid strokes and when to bite and nip and _devour_.

Soon, the bathroom echoed with the slick sounds of Moira’s mouth and Angela’s breathy moans. Moira’s hands crawled down the inside of her thighs and spread her some more, her thumbs pressing at her wet entrance in a slow massage.

It was too much already. Angela started to writhe when the tip of Moira’s tongue insisted on her clit, only to slide down and breach in with a tentative thrust. Unable to control herself any longer, Angela grabbed handfuls of Moira’s hair and urged her forward, encouraging her with small incoherent sounds and rolls of her hips.

As her tongue, stiff and so deliciously warm, slid inside her, the tip moving in circles through the swollen, wet walls, Moira’s lips pressed all around, sucking her and turning the delicious torment of her teasing into something more.

Grey shadows were starting to thicken at the corner of her eyes when, all of a sudden, Moira stopped. Angela gasped a wordless sound of disappointment, immediately stifled by the look she received.

Still stroking her pliant slit, Moira stared at her. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair a tangle of red and gold on her head. She smiled – and this time the mischief in her eyes was softened by her sheer arousal.

“Look at you – you can’t get enough of me, right? You want everyone to know who you belong to, and yet you still fight your body’s desires”. Her hand clenched on Angela’s wrist, still resting on her pubes, and she squeezed. “If only everyone out there could imagine how you moan when you’re about to come, how hard you clench around my tongue, all dripping wet and needy… how eager you are for me to fuck you…”

Angela couldn’t speak – hell, she could barely breathe, and when Moira guided her hand down she found no strength to offer any resistance. Her own fingers sunk inside her, sliding easily in the slippery flesh. Moira still held her hand, moving it in deep, hard thrusts.

“Touch yourself for me – just like this, like the good girl you are”.

Closer. With every stroke, moisture dripping on her palm and pooling on the marble underneath her, Angela felt the unavoidable outcome approach.

“You’re doing very good, Dr. Ziegler, very good indeed. Is that what you want to hear? You want _praise_. And you want to be fucked rough and hard until all you can scream. Is. My. _Name_ ”. Moira punctuated every word with savage thrust of her and Angela’s hand, pushing her deeper inside herself with an unrelenting grip.

Behind her closed lids, Angela saw stars come to life. Blue and golden burst in her head, and every breath she took was too much and not enough. Her body seemed too small to hold all that air, and the more she took in, the more she needed. She couldn’t see Moira kneel again between her legs, but when her tongue resumed its ministrations – flicks and kisses and that agonizing, brutal sweetness – her mouth dangled open in a soundless scream.

The world throbbed and shrunk around her, inside her, and the pressure in her lower belly grew into an intolerable compression.

_Closer_. With every touch and caress, with every movement of her own two fingers inside her, with every passing moment that exposed them to the risk of getting caught.

The tension broke with a _pop_ , and Angela let out a strangled moan. A single word that bounced on the marble and brass of the bathroom.

“ _Moira_ …”

She came with a gulping sound, clenching hard around her fingers and arching her back on the cold surface. Once, twice she throbbed and squirmed, until her orgasm melted into a deafening buzz in her very bones, up to her heart, too big for her chest, and to the now useless mass of animal lust that was her precious brain.

The last of the loud groans she’d let out without even realizing it died down to a harsh panting, and Angela tried to catch her breath; before she could do much more than let her trembling arms fall to her sides, Moira stood up and captured her face in her hand.

Still shocked from the intensity of her climax, Angela let her squeeze her cheeks and bend over her in a deep, hungry kiss. She grabbed Moira’s arms and held on to her, unable to sit up straight and to let go of her tongue.

With a sticky sound, Moira broke from the kiss and ran her thumb on Angela’s lower lip.

“You taste _delicious_ ”, she said with a grin.

Angela felt like she was made of jelly, too weak and sated to do much more than bob her head like a doll. It was Moira who tut-tutted and took the situation in her skilled hands: with quick, professional gestures she covered Angela’s breasts and smoothed the crumpled silk of her bodice, resting her fingers a second to long on her still erect nipples in a playful pinch. She then took Angela’s damp, trembling hands and pulled her to her feet, rolling her skirt down her legs and taking a step back to check on her work.

“And you’ve been very, _very_ good indeed – but I can’t let you go out there like this”.

“W-What do… you…” Was that her voice? That mewling, heady sound was really _her voice_?

“See for yourself”, Moira chuckled, taking Angela’s elbow and turning her to the mirror.

_Oh. Oh no._

Angela gaped as she stared at her reflection. Her hair was a tangle, sticking to her sweaty forehead and unrolled in a golden rope on her shoulder, where her tasteful updo had surrendered to passion – but it was no big deal compared to the crimson stains on her chest and throat, or the kiss mark at the corner of her mouth. She lifted her fingers and touched her ravished face, blinking in awe at her disheveled state.

She looked well-fucked indeed.

“Let me take care of you”. Moira sounded more practical than caring. Angela saw her pick her handkerchief from her pocket, and she didn’t shrink back when the other woman placed her hand on her hips and leaned forward to open the faucet. “Come on, my dear”. She made Angela turn in her arms and tilted her chin up, cleaning the lipstick stains in fastidious little touches.

“There you go, as good as new – here, a last touch”, and Moira rolled Angela’s hair up again, sticking a loose pin back on the top of her head and brushing a blond lock from her brow. She gave her one last clinical look and nodded in approval, stooping to place a swift kiss on Angela's forehead. “As good as new. Too bad the same can’t be said for this”. She waved her handkerchief and sighed at the collection of red smears on the silk.

“I’m… sorry?” said Angela, fully aware of how foolish she sounded. But Moira shrugged and threw the ruined piece of fabric in the bin.

“Nevermind. Sure, my look won’t be the same without it, unless…”

Her slanted eyes darted to the floor, and a wicked smirk stretched her lips, not as red as they used to be. She crouched and picked Angela’s panties up, neatly folding them in a pointed shape and tucking them in her front pocket.

“No one will notice”. Angela blushed some more, her cheeks burning, but Moira was done with her. For now, at least, and a wet residual throb reverberated between her legs.

The older woman leaned to the mirror and wiped some lipstick from the corner of her mouth, then stood up and winked.

“We were lucky no one found us. I’m the only one who has the right to see you like _that_ ”. She brushed some invisible dust from the lapels of her jacket, took a step back and blew a kiss from the tip of her fingers. “Until next time, Dr. Ziegler”.

And with one last chuckle she left through the door.

Angela couldn’t move.

Did they just – did Moira just gave her head in the fancy bathroom of a public gala?

“… _Scheiße”,_ she muttered again, her hands going up to rest on her cheeks. She had to bite the tip of her tongue to stifle a giggle, but then the door opened again, and she jumped on her feet with her eyes wide.

A dark-haired woman she didn’t know casually walked in, yawning and clutching her purse. The moment their eyes met, Angela shivered and gave her an automatic, too wide smile.

“Good evening!” she blurted out, and before the stranger could reply she was gone already.

_A close call_ , she thought as she walked away on wobbly knees. The bright lights of the hall blinded her, and she tried her best not to squint; keeping her pace casual was harder, because with every step she became more aware of her lack of underwear, and the brush of her thighs renewed the last sparkles of her pleasure.

She made her way among the crowd, momentarily unnoticed and grateful for the lack of interested and enthusiastic colleagues.

But before she could enjoy the quiet, a spry voice burst from behind her.

“Here you are, Angie!”

Angela turned on her heels to face Lena, eyes shining and her usual bright smile on her lips. A smile that faltered as the younger girl frowned and stepped closer.

“Are you alright? You seem…”

_No. I’m not. Whatever you're trying to say, I’m not – especially I’m not back from a session of oral sex in a public place. With a colleague. And a rival. Not at all._

Lena’s smile was back, broader than ever.

“… _tipsy_! Have you been drinking to make the evening funnier, doc?” She poked at Angela’s side and giggled.

“What – no! I’m not drunk!” Said Angela in a mixture of outrage and relief. She rolled her eyes at the other girl’s chattering, and in doing so her gaze rested on Moira. She was back in her corner on the opposite side of the room, and as their eyes met, she absent-mindedly adjusted the not-a-handkerchief in her pocket with a sly smile.

Angela gasped and stuttered.

_That smug demon!_

Lena was still talking, momentarily unaware of her friend’s embarrassment (though Angela was not optimistic about the chances of her not reading the signs).

It was going to be a hell of a night.

A waiter passed by the two of them with a tray full of champagne glasses. Angela snatched two with sweaty hands and chugged down their content in two long gulps.

“I’m not drunk”, she insisted, placing the empty glasses down under the politely shocked eyes of the waiter and taking a third one. “ _Yet_ ”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have exactly zero excuses for this (apart from both Angie and Moira being wonderful and the whole science rivalry stuff) (and they're cute together).  
> But I call out [Cawaiiey ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawaiiey/pseuds/Cawaiiey)and [Spin ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin)to share the responsibilities for this act of blatant self-indulgence :3
> 
> (Title from [ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWlmWAtQ4oE))


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